


Studies in High Valyrian

by FernMayo



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Marriage of Convenience, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FernMayo/pseuds/FernMayo
Summary: Brienne travels to Essos with her new husband, who's building the first east-west railroad on the continent.  Lonely, homesick, and unable to speak the local language, she studies High Valyrian with unfortunate results.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 64
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been reading 'As Black As Thunder' by Cytara, which you should all go read immediately, and kept wondering what would happen if Brienne secretly spoke High Valyrian (which also happens to be what they speak in Qohor). I’m not really sure if it’s kosher to base fanfiction on fanfiction--I’ve seen it done before and hope it’s okay--but wanted to take that premise and write something angsty since I can’t stop thinking about it. Also, what I’ve done here is not the gloriousness that is 'As Black As Thunder.' This is just a bunch of scenarios that lead to Jaime and Brienne smooshing their genitals together within roughly 5000 words, and diverges completely beyond the setup of a lonely woman unable to speak the language.
> 
> Let’s face it, we are all on shaky legal ground here, but I love this community and if this violates community norms or is insulting to the original work or its author, I will gladly remove it and take it as a lesson learned.

Brienne knew there was no love between them. That was her arrangement with Jaime, whose father had threatened to withhold his inheritance unless he took a suitable bride. She herself had a crumbling estate on Tarth, a name that commanded feigned obsequiousness if not respect, and an inheritance that would pass either to her husband or her first male heir due to ancient laws that her father, with an army of lawyers, had failed to find a way around before his death. She and Jaime married quietly and took a steamer to Essos, where the LannisWorks Railway Co. planned to build a railroad from Tyrosh to the eastern shores. They settled into a temporary manor in Qohor, LannisWorks’ base of operations while the company looked for a suitable route to the coast under Jaime’s management. She’d rarely seen him during the journey, and upon arrival he dove into his work such that she saw him less than she had on the boat. 

The manor was large enough that she could go years without seeing a soul despite the many servants required to run it. The exterior, a symmetrical, limestone structure with little dormers peaking up from a mansard roof, reflected the reds and oranges of the earth around it. At sunset, she liked to escape to the garden with a book, where she’d watch the façade change colors with the dying light until there was none to read by. During the day, she passed the time teaching herself High Valyrian, the local language. If she didn’t have a friend in her husband, at the very least she hoped to speak to her neighbors and manage the house.

Brienne had one indulgence, and it lived in the stables with the Quarter Horses and the Clydesdales—her Arabian, a strawberry-roan with a reddish, honey-colored mane. Duncan had been a present from her father, and she brought him from Tarth to King’s Landing and then across the Narrow Sea. Riding wasn’t a lady-like hobby, but she didn’t care and neither had Selwyn, who took pride in his daughter’s unconventional accomplishments. She’d been the fastest rider on Tarth and the most daring. Duncan matched her in spirit and she took him up rocky hills, through forests and across plains, earning strange looks and some admiring ones, as a lady riding alone was more accepted on the eastern continent than it had been in Westeros. 

One day, while she was riding in the field just beyond the garden, she spotted a figure near the stables. She’d set up a makeshift course using crates and hay bales, and Duncan cleared them as if he hadn’t spent a month on a boat doing nothing but eat and whinny. She rose with each jump and the sky grew closer, the sun warmer, and she dreaded the thought of returning to the cold, lonely manor, but she could feel her horse starting to tire. They trotted toward the stables and the figure grew larger until she could discern her husband watching her in bewilderment. She hopped down and led Duncan to a waiting groom. When she emerged from the stables, Jaime stood just outside waiting for her. “Lord husband.” 

“Lady wife,” he replied in a voice so saccharine she knew he must be mocking her.

“Would you prefer I call you something else?” she asked and started toward the house. 

He laughed and followed. “It occurs to me that I waste my days laying railroad ties in the bush while my wife rides around like a Dothraki Khal. We are trying to advance civilization, sweetling, not go backwards.”

“The Dothraki were one of the most advanced civilizations of their time,” Brienne answered without a hint of mirth. “You might visit the library some time. It is rather… imposing.” 

Jaime took her by the arm to halt her. His touch was gentle, just enough to get her attention, and he let go as soon as she faced him. “Are you unhappy?” he asked. “I know it’s far from home.”

In truth, Brienne was desperately lonely. What little High Valyrian she’d learned only served to confirm that the servants were indifferent to their employers. Worse, her maids had no qualms about discussing her looks and lack of feminine graces openly and extensively, speculating that these were the reasons Jaime never visited her rooms. Most days, she dismissed them and dressed herself well enough to be presentable, and when she didn’t she pretended not to understand them. Still, even if she wanted to leave there was no home to go back to. No one would purchase Evenfall in its current state, and she had no family or means of supporting herself. Happiness was something else now, not love or belonging, but deliverance. “No,” she answered finally. “I’m not unhappy.” They ate dinner together that night, and he told her all about Tywin’s plans for the first east-west railroad in Essos, about his time in the army, about Casterly Rock, and about his siblings. He asked her about Tarth, her father, and her horse, his eyes lighting up in amusement when she described what it felt like to ride. It was the longest they’d ever spoke, and it was the last time for a long time.

So, Brienne returned to her routine. Her High Valyrian improved enough that she was able to go into town alone, although she still hid it from the servants. In this way her world became bigger, her days more varied. She didn’t know why Jaime stayed away and she had no right to ask, so she didn’t. Instead, she visited the shops and forges, or museums that told tales of blood magic and Valyrian steel. She found many treasures for Duncan, including a saddle with a hand-carved pattern of figwort and the finest stitching she’d ever seen. She was carrying it home, excited to break it in, when she was caught in the first storm of spring.

It didn’t rain often in Qohor, or for very long. Storms blew quickly and fiercely, pouring out their wrath with the efficiency of a harried Septa. By the time Brienne returned home the sky was nearly black with clouds, her clothes soaked so thoroughly her bones were cold. She left a trail of water from the entryway, up the stares and down the hall, but it couldn’t be helped. When she’d neared her door she heard a thud and turned to see her maid on the floor holding her ankle. She dropped the saddle and rushed to her side.

“I’m so sorry,” she said in the Common Tongue, knowing the woman wouldn’t understand the words but hoping she’d understand the intent behind them.

“Aurochs,” the maid replied in High Valyrian, her voice low but flustered, and Brienne recoiled. The other maid came running from down the hall and asked what happened. “That aurochs,” the woman repeated. “Always tracking mud through the house like a wild beast.”

Brienne rose and shivered, the chill becoming unbearable. “I’ll call a maester—”

“He’s just waiting for her to break her neck on that horse so he can be rid of her. It won’t be long. Have you seen—”

“Enough.” Strong hands caught Brienne as she backed up, blocking her escape. Jaime gripped her upper arms, bracing her against their cruel words. “Help her to her room, and ask the coachman to fetch a maester,” he said to the uninjured maid in High Valyrian. She had the decency to look sheepish while the other maid looked positively astonished. 

When they’d gone, Brienne turned to face Jaime, hoping the look on her face could be explained away by the cold. “I got caught in the rain and….” She couldn’t finish her teeth chattered so, or that’s what she let him believe. He saw her to her room, ever the gentleman, and made sure she was okay to be left alone. She left him in the sitting area and stood in her little dressing room, removing her gown and picking at the laces of her corset with trembling fingers, but no matter what she did they wouldn’t budge. She ought to use the mirror but didn’t dare look up, afraid to see her reflection, afraid of the hulking beast with broad shoulders and narrow hips, afraid of the large feet poking out of her shift and the face only her father could love, as she’d been told many times. Instead, she leaned her forehead against the smooth glass and closed her eyes. She was cold, but more than that she was tired, and she didn’t care if she fell asleep where she stood and fell, melting into the floor like her discarded gown.

Even when she heard him enter, she remained where she was. His right hand rested on the center of her back and she jumped and he snatched it away. But then she felt a tug, and another, and the laces of her corset slackened. He worked his way from top to bottom, fingers trailing down her spine, and she forgot why she was shivering. He took his time—unlacing corsets wasn’t something he did every day, at least to her knowledge—until it was loose enough to unbutton, then his arms encircled her and he popped open the button just below her breasts and she thought, ‘Maybe he does do this every day.’ His hands trailed down again, both of them, this time across her stomach, stealing her breath each time they paused to work a button. Finally he reached the last one, the corset fell, and it was just her in his arms with nothing between them. 

She was afraid to move. She knew once she did, the moment would end and she’d have another endless stretch of time alone with servants who hated her and a husband who couldn’t bear to be around her. She didn’t want to turn around and see the pity in his eyes, or whatever had driven him to help her. Still, the sooner she did, the sooner she could go to bed, where her dreams would take her far away. So she hugged her arms to her chest and turned, eyes trained on his shoulder instead of his face. “Thank you,” she said, her voice low and soft, and before she could draw another breath he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind words, everyone! I live for validation in whatever form it takes. 
> 
> As per usual, this fic will have one more chapter than anticipated. Also, while there is no Arabian Peninsula and there are no British Isles in Essos, I guess there are Arabian horses and English waltzes? Thanks for coming with me on that.

Brienne’s maid was gone within the week, replaced by a soft, smiling girl with wide brown eyes and dimples. Jaime must have arranged it, but he’d given her no warning. She was grateful regardless, as the new maid was a plump ball of warmth completely lacking in guile. Arda spoke both High Valyrian and Common, a rarity so close to the eastern wilderness, and thus probably commanded a salary that rivaled the housekeeper’s. She was kind and enthusiastic, and Brienne nearly cried the first time she said “good morning” in Common without a hint of falseness. 

Brienne was no longer subjected to the insults of her maid, but the humiliation of that night lingered. Still, when she thought of it, her skin warmed with the memory of Jaime’s hands. The realization that she enjoyed his touch was fresh humiliation as she knew it held no intent, that he was only being kind. No one would ever want her that way—that was why she’d taken the first match that offered her some semblance of freedom. Feelings got in the way of that plan, and she longed for the strength to overcome them.

The morning after her trip to town she awoke with a cough, and by the time her new maid arrived it had progressed to a sore throat and a slight fever. Arda happily aired her room and brought her tea, and fussed over her if she so much as sneezed. “I know you weren’t hired to be a nursemaid,” Brienne said as she fluffed her pillows. 

“I don’t mind,” replied Arda. “We all need someone to take care of us when we’re sick, only I wonder… might I call Lord Jaime? Does he know you are ill?”

“It is only a cough.”

“You are feverish, my lady. If not Lord Jaime, then a maester perhaps.”

“Perhaps, if it gets any worse,” she answered to appease her maid, but by the next day she couldn’t get out of bed. When she tried to stand up her stomach dropped and her vision blurred, and she sank back down into the blankets to sleep. She ignored Arda’s comings and goings, and the tinctures and herbs she left by the bed. She dreamed a kaleidoscope of images that left her wondering where she was, interrupted only by gentle hands smoothing her hair and pressing a cold compress to her forehead. She was reminded of Tarth and dreamed of her mother.

Darkness had fallen by the time she awoke. Arda’s fingers danced through her hair, making her scalp tingle. She kept her eyes shut, not wanting her to stop—before she fell ill, no one had touched her since Jaime’s quick, perfunctory kiss at their wedding—but she shivered involuntarily and the hand withdrew.

“You’re awake.”

Her eyes flew open. The voice was that of her husband, his face golden in the candlelight. He sat in a chair by the bed, clothes rumpled and hair mussed, as if he’d been there for hours. His hand hovered over her as he looked her up and down, unsure, before returning to smooth her hair in slow, soft strokes. “You slept all day. I was worried.”

“You were?” she asked without thinking. He swallowed and withdrew, clasping his hands in his lap, and she regretted asking. Still, that she was of any consequence to her husband beyond the appearance of having a wife surprised her. When she first met him, she’d thought him cynical and withdrawn and perhaps a bit insulting, although he never intended to be and was never cruel. Since then she’d seen evidence of his kindness, which he hid behind sarcasm and japes, and she realized his cynicism was a façade. Yet the words from that horrible night echoed every time she remembered his touch and made her doubt all she knew of him, which wasn’t much. “Is it true?” she asked, looking for the courage to admit that she was sensible to the words of the servants, that she’d pretended she wasn’t to avoid dealing with the pain they caused. “Are you waiting…” But she couldn’t ask, couldn’t accuse this beautiful man of such hateful sentiments.

“Waiting for what?” he asked. His brow creased with concern and he touched her forehead to make sure the fever hadn’t returned.

“Nothing,” she replied and closed her eyes. “It must have been a dream.” 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured, and she did.

She recovered quickly. As soon as she was able, she took Duncan for a short ride through the forest, which bordered the city on the east. She felt guilty for staying away, but someone had seen to it that he got daily exercise while she was sick. When she returned to the house Arda met her in the foyer, her eyes bright with excitement. “Your dress has arrived,” she said breathlessly. “You should have warned me—I nearly sent it back, but it was so grand I knew it had to be yours.”

“I didn’t order a dress,” she replied and climbed the stairs to her rooms with trepidation. Arda hadn’t lied about it being grand. It hung from the door of the armoire, long, dark, and sleek. It was a newer fashion, like she’d seen ladies wear in King’s Landing. It was almost two dresses in one, the under layer a silver, shimmery silk with a heart-shaped, strapless bodice that would have been scandalous if not for the upper layer. Over the silk was a diaphanous black, gauzy fabric with short, loose sleeves. It draped over the shoulders and met in a deep V just above a high, belted waist, then extended down like a lacy second skirt. Hints of silk peaked out near the bottom, and the whole thing shimmered as the light danced across the satin then hid behind black lace, only to peak out again a moment later. It was beautiful and daring, and as she contemplated the preposterousness of owning such a thing she heard a tap at the open door.

Jaime leaned against the doorframe looking like the cat that got the cream. “I hope I got your measurements right,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it, but when I described you to the seamstress she said a plainer gown wouldn’t do, that she had a design she’d saved for the right woman. When I saw it, I knew it belonged to you.”

“You bought me a dress?” Brienne’s whole body felt light. He didn’t just buy her a dress, he bought her this dress, and from the sound of it he was picturing her in said dress at this very moment. Her heart swelled with his unexpected consideration and her fingertips itched to grab him and… she didn’t know. Kiss him? Slap him? Call him ridiculous and throw him out of her rooms? Instead she approached the dressed and caressed the smooth material, imagining what it would feel like against her skin. “It is lovely,” she said when he didn’t answer, “but I have nowhere to wear it.”

“You won’t wear it to the stables?” he asked, and before she could take offense he smiled and joined her in front of the armoire. “Our lead engineer is having a—not a ball exactly—from what I’ve heard there will be fire jugglers, sword swallowers, even a fortune teller. But I’m told there will also be music and dancing.”

“I am not a very good dancer.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he replied, and he seemed genuine. 

“I’m out of practice.”

“Shall we, then?” he asked, and held out his hand. A thrill went through her when their hands touched, but it was swallowed by the guilt of wanting something she shouldn’t. Still, she pressed close to him when his arm looped around her waist and he began leading her in an English Waltz. It had been so long, years in fact, since she’d danced with anyone, and at first her knees knocked into his legs. He took it in stride and soon they were gliding across the room to the sound of the wind outside, his hand warm on the small of her back. He started humming a tune and she felt the vibrations in his chest every time it brushed against hers. She wanted to push herself against him, to feel every inch of him against every inch of her, to do things that were so shameful her Septa would only hint at them in hushed tones. He was beautiful and kind and she was a woman. Of course she wanted him. 

But Brienne wasn’t made to belong to someone. The best she could hope for was to be of use. She would wear the gown and let Arda dress her hair. She would practice dancing so as not to embarrass her husband, but she’d do that with Arda as well, whose touch wouldn’t be a distraction. She wanted to stop dancing but she didn’t want to offend him, and she didn’t know how to tell him what he was doing to her, so she pretended to stumble. He didn’t let go, though, only gripped her more firmly and stopped dancing, and now she was pushed against him and his breath was on her neck, and for a moment she thought he might try to kiss her. He didn’t, of course. He let her go and stepped back to look at her. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I fear I may have over-exerted myself,” she said. “I should probably lie down.” It wasn’t quite the truth, nor was it a lie. The flush of her skin gave it credence. 

“I’ll go then,” he said, “but don’t forget to practice your dancing… or your fire juggling. I can’t be sure what we’ll encounter, local customs being what they are.”

“No need. I’m an expert fire juggler.”

“I suspected,” he said and turned to leave. On his way out his eyes lingered on the dress. Brienne wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that look, but she knew the gown was far lovelier hanging empty than it would ever be on her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so now it's going to be four chapters because getting from point A to point B is taking longer than I thought, and because I like to write in spurts. I have made all the servants a little bit gay because who isn't or is that just me? Also, I know book Brienne is not supposed to be attractive but to me she is, so it was really hard to describe her without just being like 'she looked totally hot, and her boobies were amazing and her legs were like... really good legs and can they be on my shoulders?' Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Jaime didn’t return the next night. He sent a servant to tell Brienne he was staying in town. She had no word of him for days after, not even another note. When he’d given her the dress she’d thought that maybe they could be friends, but in truth she’d only seen him a handful of times since they arrived in Essos. That he occasionally sought her company was anomalous but not unexplainable--it was odd having a stranger in his home, and perhaps he wished to maintain their acquaintance without the obligation of friendship. 

The day of the ball approached and still no Jaime. She dressed in the morning and went down to the kitchens, hoping to hear some news. Brienne was deeply principled and had never eavesdropped on anyone, so it was with shame that she ducked into a dark corner of the hallway. A large hutch provided cover, and she remained there until she heard the chatter of servants, her back to the cold stone wall. 

“…driven him away from his home, the poor man.”

“What do you think she’ll wear tonight?”

“Her house dress. I’m sure there’ll be some emergency to keep him away. Would you take her to a ball?”

“At least she’s not vile like his sister.” 

“Lady Cersei is pure will… and pure beauty. I admire her so.” 

“I’ve noticed. You ought to be more discreet about it.” 

The girls’ laughter rang and receded to a distant echo as they entered the scullery further down the hall. Brienne emerged from beside the hutch and made her way to the gardens, where she watched the trees cast shadows on the cobblestone path as she walked through a maze of shrubs. She went to the farthest corner and sat on a bench among a cluster of wildflowers, the only part of the garden that wasn’t expertly curated. Long ago, someone had paid men to sail the known world looking for botanical specimens to present to a rich magister. The result of those expeditions had made their way to this garden, creating a mismatch of heavenly plants and a logistical nightmare for the gardener. Somehow, he managed to keep them all alive, but Brienne preferred the native flowers that grew without interference. 

Arda found her there an hour later, still chasing the shadows with her eyes. “Would you like tea, my lady?” she asked. “You should take it now so you have time to dress for the ball.”

“I’m not going to the ball,” Brienne replied, but stood anyway. 

“Are you ill?” asked Arda.

“Arda…” she began, but she couldn’t finish. Jaime wasn’t coming home. Everyone knew it.

Her maid gave her a knowing look and looped their arms together, a gesture that would have been too familiar if Brienne had been a proper lady. “He is a damned fool,” said Arda, leading her toward the house. “Men think of nothing but work.”

“No, they don’t.” They walked until they reached the garden entrance. “Would you take dinner with me this evening?”

Arda released Brienne’s arm, her face a mix of fondness and pity. “Of course, my lady. I would love to hear all about Duncan. Perhaps I could meet him—I love horses.” Brienne didn’t smile often, but her lips turned up a bit at the mention of her horse and the thought of having company. Her husband wasn’t a friend but he’d given her one, whether he knew it or not. She wouldn’t wallow in disappointment. That was for the weak-minded. She’d make friends where she could and carve out a life however she could, however lonely it was. If she were lucky, it wouldn’t be lonely for long. If she weren’t, she’d be no worse off. 

These thoughts warmed her as she took tea alone, Arda being engaged until supper. They warmed her when she passed the armoire containing the dress she had nowhere to wear, the evidence that Jaime thought of her roughly once or twice a month. They warmed her until she heard bustling downstairs and the valet rushed down the hall carrying a silk waistcoat, and Arda burst into her rooms and attacked her with a horsehair brush. 

“What are you doing?” Brienne asked, dodging the maid’s assault.

“You’re right, you should dress first.” At Brienne’s bewildered expression she exclaimed, “He’s here!”

Rather than relief, Brienne felt pure annoyance. Jaime Lannister thought he could dictate the terms of their acquaintance, moving in and out of her life at a moment’s notice. Each time he came home she felt as if she were falling from the edge of a cliff, knowing there’d be no one at the bottom to catch her. She ought to refuse his invitation, but she knew it would cause rumors and further humiliation. She had to attend, but she didn’t have to be happy about it. She undressed and took the gown from the armoire. “Isn’t it lovely?” Arda asked. “It suits you so well.”

“I haven’t even put it on yet,” Brienne protested. “You don’t think it’s too daring?”

“Quite. Only someone of stature could wear it without looking like a limp balloon. But you… oh you must put it on!”

Brienne did as told once Arda had finished with her underthings. The silk poured over her head like water and draped perfectly from her hips to the floor. Arda tied the sash to give her a waist and led her to the glass. She was afraid to look—angry as she was, there was still a part of her that wanted to be, if not beautiful, then at least attractive to someone. She was big and strong and could weather anything, but a dashing man had bought her a dress, had said it was perfect for her and gods help her, she wanted it to be. 

From the neck down, the woman in the glass didn’t look like her at all. This woman’s skin was creamy against the black and deep silvery gray of the dress. Had she had a large bosom, the neckline would have been scandalous but as it was, it only offered a hint of what was underneath. The bodice highlighted the slight swell of her breasts and the long, pooling skirts showed off her long legs. She didn’t look dainty like most of the highborn woman she encountered, but she looked regal, imposing, and sensual in a way that was powerful instead of demure. 

Her head, of course, was another story, but Arda got to work curling her hair. Afterwards, it was parted to the side and arranged in a low, loose bun. A silver headband of filigreed stars completed the look and matched the luster of her eyes. A bit of color was applied to her brows and lips, but she refused rouge, as she was prone to embarrassment and didn’t need any help looking flushed. When she looked at herself again she was shocked to see, rather than an ugly woman playing dress-up, someone who could almost pass for a lady. She wasn’t beautiful and yet she was utterly singular.

“Oh, Lady Brienne, you are simply divine. If your lord husband doesn’t build a temple dedicated to your worship, I’ll fling myself from the attic window.”

“Are you mad?” asked Brienne.

“No, only prone to exaggeration, but my point stands. You’re a goddess, but I’m afraid you’ll be late if you don’t hurry. Now shoo.” Arda all but pushed her from the room. Another lady might have punished her for her insolence, but when they reached the corridor Brienne clutched her in a quick but crushing hug. 

“Thank you, Arda,” she said when the young woman had overcome her shock, “for everything.”

“Well go on.” Arda blushed and skittered away. 

Brienne steeled herself as she descended the stairs. She felt like the heroine in a romance novel, but she knew reality would set in and after tonight, she’d be left on her own again. She resolved to enjoy herself without letting Jaime past her guard but oh, there he was, standing in the foyer giving orders to the coachman, his hair swept rakishly back from his forehead and his eyes glowing in the lamplight. He caught her eye and his mouth stopped moving. All of him stopped moving until he turned to face her as she reached the landing, the coachman forgotten. “Lady wife,” he said, recalling their chat in the stables with a hint of mirth. He held out his hand.

“Lord husband.” She ignored his hand and went to the waiting coach, stepping in without a look behind her. He sat opposite her and made some attempts at conversation, but she rebuffed him with clipped answers until he clenched his jaw and stared out the window. They rode the rest of the way in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! It took me a bit longer because I didn’t want to break up the chapter. Everything I know about 1910s undergarments I learned in about 10 minutes on the internet, so I’ve taken some liberties.

Brienne descended into a glittering confection of crystal and candlelight. The ballroom was decorated in white and gold, rose-colored sashes draped over the windows. Couples moved quickly about the floor in a dance she was unfamiliar with and the ladies’ skirts twirled in tempo. The ballroom opened onto the gardens, which tonight looked more like the markets of Volantis. Performers stood at intervals along the path, delighting anyone who happened to walk by. Some peaked out of little stalls that had been built for the occasion, each decorated according to what went on within. Servants carried trays with food and drink, curious fruits and liqueurs that Brienne couldn’t place. The effect was at once folksy and novel and meticulously planned.

Eyes fell on them the moment they entered the ballroom. She tried to muster her earlier confidence, but she was aware of the picture they made, her husband handsome, broad, and strong, she just as broad and strong, but plain no matter how she was ornamented. Worse, she kept catching his eye when he thought she wasn’t looking and knew he found her just as awkward. Perhaps he hadn’t considered how they’d look to people, or her fortune had outweighed the embarrassment for a time, but no longer. “I need some air,” she said.

“Shall we visit the gardens?” he asked.

She looked out the window and spotted a place where the path wound around a tall hedge. “I think I’ll head out alone. You should stay and enjoy yourself.” She left without waiting for a response. The air was no better in the garden, the grounds no less crowded, but she found her hiding spot empty. People drifted by, their chatter and footsteps carried over by a light breeze, but no one ventured around to her little corner. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out, in and out like she’d learned to do when she was a girl. Look, listen, breathe. The sweet fragrances of the garden soothed her, as did the distance hum of music, which had slowed to a familiar melody. After a few minutes she felt better, even silly for letting a few harsh looks rattle her. 

After all, Jaime didn’t owe her his time or protection, only her independence. They’d made a bargain to join themselves legally and secure their respective fortunes so they could live without restrictions. He was keeping up his end of the bargain, and if Brienne made demands on his time then she was not. He left her to do as she please as agreed, and beyond that he’d been perfectly agreeable when present. Truly, it was the best she could hope for.

She emerged and strolled down the path, intent on joining him and making some excuse for her earlier behavior. There was indeed a fire juggler dressed in a glittering tunic, polished shells dangling from his neck. A red-haired woman danced on crushed glass while a man played the fiddle. She passed the spectacle and found Jaime speaking to another guest in Valyrian. “I haven’t been home in a week,” he said, and she stopped. “I can’t even look at her.” 

Brienne nearly backed into a servant, but Jaime’s companion noticed her and they both turned. She froze. There was nothing she could say without giving herself away and she couldn’t bear to hear him to try to explain, couldn’t fathom what he would say. “I apologize,” she managed in a low voice, eyes skirting the cobblestones. “I’m still adjusting to the climate and felt ill, but I’m quite recovered.” Jaime took her arm and she wondered what he must be thinking when he touched her. He looked at her with concern, but she knew the truth. 

“I am glad you are well,” he answered. “I was hoping to introduce you to our chief engineer, Captain Martell.” 

Captain Martell’s eyes danced with mischief. He took her free hand and kissed it. “I feel like we’re already acquainted. I’ve heard so much about you and the reality does not disappoint.” 

Brienne’s face grew hot with shame. She barely registered Jaime pulling her closer. “I’m afraid she is mine for the evening, Martell. You’ll just have to make do with all the other women who aren’t married to your employer.”

“Such a shame,” he replied, “but I suppose I will. Please excuse me—I’m being summoned.” He rushed off to speak with a waiting guest.

Jaime turned to Brienne, still clutching her arm in his. “I am glad you are feeling better. I admit I thought you were angry with me.”

“Why would I be?” she asked. “I’ve hardly seen you all these months. What could you have done?”

“Yes, work is….” A servant came by with a tray of tiny glasses and Jaime threw back a drink in one swallow. She eyed him curiously. “I’ve always hated these things. So formal, even with a half-naked clown eating nails in the corner.”

She wanted to laugh. He was so funny and so incredibly charming. She was useful, and nothing more. She wasn’t in on the joke, she was part of it, so she said nothing, only wondered how many people he’d told it to. Were they watching her now, feeling sorry for the man who had to marry a disgusting cow? Or did they pity the girl whose only friend was paid to wait on her? Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and she turned her head so he wouldn’t see.

“Brienne?” He turned her to face him, but she didn’t dare look up. If she did, the tears would spill onto her cheeks. She felt herself being led to the back of the garden, up the winding path and past Ladies and Lords whose feet she watched, head still bowed, as they drifted past. The music grew softer until she could hardly hear it. She didn’t look up until they stopped and when she did, they were alone. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

“I had thought….” She stopped herself. It wasn’t too late to make another excuse and pretend she hadn’t understood his cruel words, but she couldn’t continue as before. Nor was there any reason to spare his feelings. “We have an arrangement,” she said when she found her voice, and it was stronger than she’d hoped. “I have upheld my end, and I make no demands of you other than my independence. However, I must add another and that is, my Lord, that you do not mock me.” 

“Mock you?” he asked, incredulous.

“However you feel, however repulsive you find me, you mustn’t… what you said to Captain Martell was cruel.”

“I didn’t—”

“It was cruel, my Lord. It was true, but it was cruel.”

Jaime clenched his jaw. She saw the moment his eyes went from concerned to fierce, like a snake about to strike. “You heard us, then,” he said. “You’ve been studying.”

“I heard you tell him why you never come home, that you can’t stand to look at me. I don’t hold your feelings against you, only—”

“Did you hear me tell him why?” he asked, voice charged with a current of intensity.

“I don’t need to.”

“No,” he replied, “you simply assume I’m a monster. I’m a Lannister, so I must be false.”

“Aren’t you?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, only stared at her with the same intensity she heard in his voice. His fists clenched and for a moment she thought he might hit her, something she would surely make him regret. Finally, he answered simply, “Yes.” His fingers unfurled. “I have hidden things from you, have spoken of you to others. I’ve avoided you because I cannot stand to look at you. So yes, I suppose I am false.” 

Brienne didn’t know what to say. She’d expected denial or anger or a half-hearted apology if she were very lucky. She hadn’t expected a full admission of guilt without pretty words to soften it, but it would have to be enough. “You cannot help it,” she said, resigned. 

“No.”

“May I depend on you to keep—”

“You still haven’t asked me why.” He reached out and traced the neckline of her gown, his finger trailing from the hollow of her neck to the top of the satin bodice. 

“Lord Jaime…” 

His other hand landed on her waist and slid languidly down to her hip. He stepped toward her, so close that if she took a deep breath their chests would be touching. She didn’t breathe. “Ask me why.” 

She did breathe then, and the air hitched in her throat. “Why?” she exhaled.

“Because the things I want to do are not what we agreed to, and if I have to see you every day…” His hand cradled the back of her neck possessively and he leaned closer. His thumb rested near the hollow of her throat. “Did you know I nearly took you on the stairs tonight?” Brienne shivered as his face inched toward hers, her anger chased away by his touch. “That day in the stables, I nearly dragged you out to the field and fucked you in front of the servants. Do you still think I’m a monster?”

Images sprang to her mind, Jaime grasping her hips and pushing her onto his cock while she gripped the bannister, Jaime throwing her into the dirt and using her for his pleasure until he spent inside her. Jaime, who’d undressed her and walked away because he was too honorable to break their agreement when he could have pressed her against the mirror and…. “No,” she answered, and although she was afraid, she leaned forward and touched her lips to his.

It was a gentle, soft kiss—her first real one—but within seconds he took control and deepened it, his tongue meeting hers so there could be no doubt about his intent. He broke away quickly. “If I come home with you tonight—” 

“Please,” she whispered, and kissed him again. 

She wasn’t sure how they got to the coach, but once there Jaime sat next to her and they were kissing again, his hands on every inch of exposed skin. “Have ever you touched yourself?” he said into her ear, low enough so the coachman wouldn’t hear.

Brienne blushed down to her toes. “Once. My Septa told me it wasn’t natural, so I never did it again.”

“Ah,” he replied, pushing up her skirts, “that is patently false.” He gripped the inside of her thigh, hand moving up until it found her center. He slid a finger between her lips and she gasped. “Gods,” he whispered when he found her slick and ready simply from his kiss. Two fingers circled her clit, then dipped down to tease her opening. He flattened his hand and stroked her gently, fingers wet with her juices. Brienne, in spite of herself, rocked into his hand. “That’s it,” he said, and her whole body shuddered as the sensation built. She felt his hand move lower still, and he inserted a finger into her, moving it back and forth slowly until he found a spot that made her gasp. She gripped his lapels and pulled him in for a kiss. It was frantic and sloppy, and he slipped another finger in and began pumping in and out until she broke the kiss with a quiet moan. “Shhh,” he whispered as she tried not to whimper, but he didn’t stop. The more she responded, the harder he fucked her with his fingers so she had to bury her face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound. He leaned in until he was nearly on top of her and she gripped the tops of his arms and came so hard she nearly tore his jacket. 

The servants rushed to greet them when they arrived but Jaime grabbed her wrist and practically pulled her up the stairs to her rooms. When they reached her sitting room he pulled her flush against him for a quick kiss and then pushed her onto the settee. She hardly had time to take a breath before he was under her skirts again. He kissed the inside of her thigh and she jumped when she felt him nip at the soft flesh. “Sorry,” he said, his breath tickling her skin, and he climbed up to soothe her, his lips on hers again. He reached down to play with her clit and she wrapped her arms around him and tried to pull him down onto her. “Not just yet,” he said with a devilish smile and started kissing his way down her body, pausing to tease one of her nipples over the silk of her dress. She arched into him and he shoved the fabric down so there was nothing between her and the warmth of his mouth. 

“Jaime,” she breathed, not sure what she wanted but needing him to do something. He obliged, spreading her legs wider and then, not quite satisfied, hooking one over his shoulder and burying his face in her cunt. His tongue stroked her, the pressure more direct than what he’d done with his hands, and her legs shook. The sounds it made were obscene and should have put her off, but it set her skin on fire. “Jaime,” she said again when his fingers joined his mouth and he fucked her while he sucked on her clit. “Jaime, I…” 

“Is this what it takes to get you to stop calling me Lord Husband?” he asked, his fingers sliding out of her slowly.

“No,” she said and sat up, her leg sliding from his shoulder. He took her meaning and led her into the bedroom. This time, after he loosened her corset, he spun her around so he could see her while he worked the buttons. She wore no chemise—her dress was too sheer for it—and at once she was in nothing but her stockings. She bent to remove them and he stopped her. “Let me,” he said, and had her sit on the bed while he peeled them off one at a time, his eyes drinking her in.

“Your turn,” she said, and pushed his jacket from his shoulders. He’d already loosened his tie, so she had only to unbutton his shirt before she got to see the man who was about to be hers. Unable to help herself, she rested her hands on his chest and slid them down to the muscles of his abs. He groaned and kissed her, then stood and shucked off his pants in mere seconds. Then he was on her, his weight pushing her down deliciously so there was nothing to do but let him kiss her and touch her as much as he wanted. She opened her legs and he took his cock in hand and slid it along her center, the head rubbing her clit and making her gasp before resting at her opening. 

Slowly, so slowly, he entered her just a bit. She’d heard it would hurt but it didn’t, not yet anyway. It felt foreign, but neither painful nor pleasant. Jaime’s breath on her neck was pleasant, his chest pressing into hers was pleasant, his gentle but insistent touches were pleasant. Still, as he pushed in further, the sensation became a pleasing ache—pleasure with an edge. She clutched at his back and breathed through it until his hips stilled. He kissed her neck and jaw and his lips grazed her ear. “And now?” he asked, rocking in and out of her slowly, and the edge was gone and there was nothing but pleasure.

“Jaime,” she sighed, hooking her legs around his waist. She could tell he was holding back by the tension in his muscles but she was enjoying herself, so she kissed him and said nothing. It was madness, what was happening. No one had ever wanted her, and this man could barely control himself. With one word, she could deliver him from his torture, but it was enough just to feel him inside her, to have him surrounding her. And when it wasn’t enough, she whispered his name again and he drove in and out of her so quickly she slid up the mattress. 

He did it over and over, slowing to an excruciating pace, making her clench her legs to push him in further, then fucking her hard and fast so all she could do was hold on and cry out with each thrust. If she’d known this was what it was to fall in love, she never would have agreed to a loveless marriage. She did love him, she realized, and he was her husband. He belonged to her. The knowledge pushed her over the edge and her orgasm pulsed through her entire body, every muscle pulling him closer. Only then did he let go, biting her shoulder as he came inside of her.

Afterwards they lay in each other’s arms, unwilling to separate. “Will you stay?” she asked.

“Until end of my days,” he said, echoing their vows, and she knew he’d always meant it.


End file.
